


Lace

by makapedia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Family Dinners, Garters, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul learns that a vengeful Maka is not to be trifled with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She grins at him and he swears he might die right on the spot.

It’s such a coy little grin; the corners of her mouth curl up in secretive glee, but for all intents and purposes, she still looks prim and proper. He only reads her mischievousness because he knows her so well and knows what to look for, how her lips curl and her eyes twinkle with a pity for him and his state of mind.

Soul is scared shitless. He knows exactly what he did to invoke her wrath — too many instances of him muttering French poetry to her in class just to watch the way she gasps and too many adventures in seeing how many times he can make her blush in the supermarket before she finally snaps and rams him with the shopping cart come to mind and he knows he’s fucked, so fucked. He fired the first shot and now Maka was engaging in war, and he was terrified to see just what she has in store for him.

He takes a long sip of his drink and awaits his fate. Soul hopes that Maka will be a kind and gracious meister, and maybe not make him wish he was never born.

(Maka Albarn is fierce when she’s spiteful, and he doesn’t want to be on the other end of her rage but here he is).

As it is, he’s already suffering; he’s at dinner with his parents and Wes — and Maka, who makes polite conversation with his folks and small jokes with his brother. She’s entirely convincing in her little act, all kind and smart and practiced, things he knows she’s brilliant at. He also knows that she’s brilliant at slicing and dicing. He knows that beneath her cute, blonde, wholesome demeanor lays a hot as hell demon slayer and he’s pissed the primal, basic part of her off.

Maka giggles demurely at a joke told by his father and Soul wonders which side of her he’s about to face — the doe-eyed sweetness that gives him the most painful and glorious cavities, or the hardened battle goddess that he’d like to have step on his face.

She accidentally elbows a fork off of the edge of the table and gasps. He leans down and reaches for the discarded utensil like the good dog he is, hoping to earn brownie points from his meister slash master. He tries not to glance up the smart, navy colored dress she’s wearing but fails hopelessly because he’s stupid for his meister. Her fingers prick at the hem of her dress and scoot it further up her (luscious) thigh and his mouth goes dry.

Garters. Her big revenge plan is to wear garters. The whitest, purest, laciest garters he’s ever seen are linked around his favorite pair of legs and he wants to kiss them and also kiss the strip of skin around it. He then wants to rip them off. With his teeth.

Something stirs in his pants and he knows he’s in Big Trouble. Like boiling hot water trouble, like he’s afraid he might transform and scythe-arm the table in half if she keeps smiling that way at him.

“Thanks, Soul,” she cooes. “You’re such a good partner.”

He tries desperately not to pant like a loser. His slacks are definitely too tight now. He scoots his chair in and hopes to whatever god is listening (Kid, are you there?) that his family doesn’t notice that he’s got the most shameful, embarrassing boner in the history of forever.

His mother smiles at him for using the few manners that she thinks she’s managed to install into him. She doesn’t realize that he did it to escape certain death via Maka Albarn, skull crusher extraordinaire, but he’ll take what he can get. He’ll need it to help him through this dinner, because not only does he have to sit through Wes this and Wes that, but now he knows what treasure lies beneath his girlfriend’s skirt and there’s no force in the world that can stop his penis from reacting accordingly.

He wonders when he got so uncool. He wonders if he ever stood a chance against Maka and her wit (and legs, legslegslegs that he wants around his head and wants to use as earmuffs forever). He’s bitten off more than he can chew and now he’s going to choke violently at the dinner table and it’s Maka that gets the last laugh. She always gets the last laugh. He should know better by now.

“Yeah,” he wheezes. Maka smiles into her cup of tea. “… Yeah, no problem.”

Wes turns to him and tries to engage in a conversation with him, but Soul’s brain is entirely focused on how her knee is nudging his thigh and how she’s flashing him a hint of his prize.

He might cry. It’s so lacy and delicate, with a little bow tied intricately around the outside of her creamy thigh and he wants to kiss it. He wants to run his tongue under it and touch it, oh god, does he want to touch it. He wants to watch her pretty little face react to her awful, terrible, naughty weapon ripping the dainty little garment with his teeth. He wants her to clear the table and punish him — but maybe wait until his parents have gone home and until Wes is out of shouting distance.

He also wonders when he became so masochistic. Has he always been this way?

Maka takes his hand under the table and smoothes it over her bare thigh. Yes, yes he has always been this way. Maka just fans the flames.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to catch the whole house on fire.

His pinky links through the loop of the bow because he’s fucking hopeless and he kind of wonders if she’s substituted smart, sensible Hanes cotton boyshorts for something equally as tempting and lacy. He squirms in his seat at the thought. He should not have thought that, nope, but he’s entertaining the idea and rubbing his thumb under the garter, appreciating the softness of her skin and not at all paying attention to Wes’ vivid reenactment of his last show.

Maka is, though. She beams and laughs and claps her hands together because she’s a perfect little devil and she can act her way out of a box when it means getting revenge. Her thigh is warm beneath his hand and he takes great care in not jostling his arm too noticeably; both of his hands are not on deck and he doesn’t want to call attention to the fact that he has his hand pressed against Maka’s leg and he’s trying to rub her inner thigh the right way to get her going.

He’s sort of hoping any and all gods aren’t listening now, because he’s definitely sinning. Especially Kid.

He eyes her. He knows what to look for. When her brow creases and she bites her bottom lip, the party in his pants becomes a full blown fiesta. He’s in. He’s done it. She is turned on. Score one for Soul.

Wes laughs and he freezes. He absolutely forgot who’s sitting next to him at the table and therefore has all the angle he needs to know what is happening.

Soul is caught at a crossroads: continue traversing and find out if Maka has panties to match the maddening garters and shame himself in front of his big brother, or set his hand back on the table and repent?

Maka makes the choice for him and takes his hand into hers. She squeezes, takes another sip of her drink and licks her lips. Soul all but shudders and collapses onto the table in front of him, a twitching, burning heap of arousal and lust for his devious meister and the twin lacy garters that she wears on her god-given legs.

He wants to worship her like a shrine and also escape his parents house and drill Maka into the hotel bed until she’s seeing stars and sobbing his name. He wants to lick her until she’s a delicious, boneless heap of sated meister and he knows he’s done a good job. He wants her to grab him by his tie and yank him beneath her, wants her to ride him like the goddess she is and tell him how she’s going to punish him for being so bad and teasing her.

He wants to whisper in her ear and bite her neck. He’s hopeless, absolutely hopeless, and his mother’s practiced laugh jolts him out of his fantasies. He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, guzzles down his soda and hopes Wes doesn’t suggest they get dessert, too.

“Is everything alright, Soul?”

He slinks down, plants an elbow on the table and shoves his chin onto his palm. “Yep.”

“Sit up straight!” His mother admonishes. “Honestly, I raised you better than that.  _Soul_.”

Clearly she hasn’t. He’s still thinking about the nirvana that is the area between Maka’s legs and what his chances are of not creaming his pants like a preteen, like a fucking pathetic loser who doesn’t have a handle on his dick. Like he clearly doesn’t.

“Listen to your mother,” Maka reminds him sweetly. Her voice does things to his not-so-little problem. He twitches, practically convulses, and straightens his spine with a hiss. He hopes his bitchface will ward off further instructions so he can wallow in his misery in peace.

“And listen to  _Maka_ ,” Wes chimes in, and Soul wants to die right there on the spot.

He’s not at all surprised that when Maka sighs in bliss after she takes the first bite of his meal, he ends up knocking Wes’ drink over, effectively soaking his own lap and distinguishing what’s left of his diminishing pride.


	2. Garters

He can’t keep his hands off of her and he doesn’t think it’s a problem at all. Compared to what he’s been through the past few hours, the mouth on her neck is saintly. **  
**

“Mmm, hey–”

Before she can say anything else, he glues his mouth to hers and the hands on her waist spin her around. They meet, chest to chest, and he grasps at the swell of her rump, squeezes and loves the way she squeaks against his mouth – he especially loves how she dissolves into a breathy moan when he tugs and tugs, hoists her up and holds her against his waist.

She’s all breaths and sighs when he nibbles his way down to her jaw. Her skin is soft and delicate, and she’s so far skinned that everywhere he grazes his teeth is left marred with a trail of pink. It’s ridiculous how effective a scrape of a tooth is against her facade. He watches her melt, watches her expression thaw from poised mischievousness into want. Her lips go lax and she moans again, and Soul’s pretty sure he’s hit jackpot.

Legs circle around his waist and ankles interlock along the small of his back and she swivels her hips delectably, slowly, and he steadies her with a palm pressed against her back as he rocks with her.

“Minx,” he growls. She giggles wordlessly and continues her tirade. He might lose it before he finally discovers if she’s wearing lacy panties to match the maddening garters that she’s been teasing him with all night or not – it’s simultaneously the greatest thing in the goddamn world and the worst. “That was uncalled for.”

Her fingers push through his hair and she smoothes back his bangs. “No,” she murmurs. He can taste her breath on his lips. “That was revenge. And it was so worth it. You should’ve seen your face.”

The coy look on her face makes him want to scream. He stumbles forward and drops her onto the hotel bed beneath them; she gasps, eyes wide, and he’s dragged down by the legs tangled around his waist.

Her face is blazingly expressive and it intrigues him. He tries to place the shade of green she flutters at him and then wonders why he’s focusing so deeply on her eyes when she’s biting her lip and there’s a flush of pink washing over the ridge of her nose. She’s a plethora of colors and flushes adorably, and for a moment he’s not thinking about ripping those fucking garters off of her with his teeth and instead considers peppering her with butterfly kisses. It’s disgusting how quickly she can flip him between ravenous and adoring. He hears the sound of a whip cracking somewhere in the back of his head.

She rolls her lip beneath her teeth and stares at him. Her hair is sprawled along the comforter like a golden halo and for a moment, she’s an angel. She’s light colors and luminous eyes on white sheets, lithe limbs and soft sighs.

There’s a growl of his name and then a tugging of his hips, and he’s introduced to damp heat and bare skin, and never mind – she’s not an angel at all, she’s a demon. She’s devious and maleficent, and  _she’s not wearing panties at all_.

He dissolves into a full body shudder, and garters be damned – his fingers trail up her thigh with purpose and he strokes down her slit. He’s greeted with dampness and bustling heat, mind boggling and he toys with her, strokes and strokes while her shoulders press back against the mattress and her hips squirm.

“Where are your panties,” he hisses, because he can’t figure out when she might’ve stripped herself down. They rushed right to the hotel after dinner, and she’d been at the table the entire time. There hadn’t been any time for her to strip herself down; she’s still wearing the (frustrating, incredible, delicate) garters, he knows it, and she’s both confusing and stimulating. Fickle woman.

She swallows noisily and parts her lips for a breath. Her chest perks up and she whimpers his name as he rubs slow, sure circles against her clit.

It’s a little endearing and a lot exciting – her dress is pushed up to her hips, navy fabric bunched up around pale skin and lacy white garters adorning tender thighs that he wants to bite and suckle.

She’s wearing too much, though, and it just won’t do. He hovers over her, nibbles his way over to the lobe of her ear and breathes, “Take off your dress and I’ll get rid of my shirt?”

“Pants, too,” she shoots back and tugs at his tie. There are about eighty things he’d like to do involving his tie and her hands and he doesn’t trust his mouth to keep quiet about them; he loves her and respects her more than anything else, but he doesn’t think spouting filthy, animalistic things like wanting her to tie him to the bedpost with it and ride him until he’s dry is really in the budget, so to speak.

Maybe some other time. Maybe when he doesn’t want to rip those delicate garters down her legs with his mouth and lick her until she can’t see straight.

She shimmies and wiggles her way out of her dress, tugging it over her head like she’s a snake shedding her skin and it’s endearing, exciting – much better than the awkward shuffle he does to unzip his pants and yank them down. Unbuttoning his shirt takes too long and he forgets for a moment that he needs to loosen his tie. He doesn’t think he can be blamed for his lack of tact, though, because Maka’s wearing nothing but a white lacy bra and garters, cheeks incandescent and pink, and her revenge isn’t so painful anymore.

Well, it’s a little painful. He’s so hard that he can’t get out of his pants fast enough. The meticulous crease down the center of his pant legs be damned, but there are more important things in the world than paying for dry cleaning – like Maka grazing her fingers along her dainty bra straps, Maka in lace, Maka Maka  _Maka_.

She giggles at his haste. He drags the pad of his tongue up her stomach. She stops laughing.

Instead she sighs gingerly, back arching, and Soul licks under the right cup of her bra. The skin of her breast is tender and warm, and when his dexterous tongue brushes against a nipple and she throws her head back and sobs the noise vibrates through him and shoots straight to his dick.

He growls her name against her breast and she whimpers. “Sss–  _Soul_ , please, um–”

“Hm?”

His tongue dips into the slight valley of her chest. She blushes so hard that it extends down past her face, well beneath the lacy cups of her bra.

“… Could you… maybe…”

He nibbles and kisses his way down to her naval. “ _Oui_.”

The gratification is instant – her hips raise off the bed and she pushes her head back, sliding her shoulders further and further back until she grasps the bed frame and straightens herself out; her feet wobble and her toes spread and curl when he kisses the crease where her pelvis ends and her leg begins.

He takes a leg into each hand and spreads her into a ‘v’. His hands slide down until he’s stroking the area along each garter with a tender admiration – they were a respectable opponent and had nearly done him in, but in the end, he remains victorious.

His fingers slip beneath the lace and stroke the supple skin that lay beneath. Maka writhes and Soul stiffens further; he drops one leg to better grasp the other and he hovers closer and closer, until he’s breathing against a porcelain thigh and she’s weeping his name.

“Stupid fucking flimsy things,” he growls. They had been the bane of his existence an hour ago and now they’re so close, just within his grasp. He licks his lips; there’s nothing he’ll enjoy more than ripping the fickle garment off of her legs and going down on her until she’s nothing but a boneless heap of sated meister.

“Revenge is sweet,” she pants.

He bites at the hem of the lace viciously. The bow along the outer side of the garter falls apart easily with a little tug. He looks her in the eye and grins wide, lacy garment hanging from his mouth like a trophy and he’s nothing more than a dog, seeking either approval or retribution from his master – either way, it’s going to be hot. Either way, he’s going to finally get relief; he’s been sporting an obnoxious boner since he first saw the damn lace and his engines are revving. He’s ready to go.

She heaves a breath, bra straps slipping and she links her free leg around him. Soft skin brushes against the stubble along the side of his jaw and she groans, throaty and carnal, and he’s about to drop the garter from his mouth and work on the other one when the hotel door swings open and Wes walks in.

Soul turns his head slowly and watches, in horror, as Wes drops his skull-clad wallet on the ground and chokes on whatever sentence he’s starting. Soul’s jaw drops and the (stupid fucking) garter flutters to the bed like a leaf dangling in the breeze.

They stare at each other for a long, comical moment. The tension is poignant and apparently too much for Maka, who gasps and grabs a pillow and stuffs it over her face.

“… I’ll come back later,” Wes squawks. “Just wanted to – uh –  _BYE, NICE MEETING YOU, MAKA!_ ”

Soul nods dimly and flinches when his brother slams the door. The garters are bad news for sure, he realizes, and Maka’s revenge extends far past humiliation at the family dinner. No, now she’s reaching into accidental voyeurism.

Her legs tighten around him and she tugs; he falls against her and she tugs him by the hair into a kiss, and Soul gets dessert after all.


End file.
